


The Required Reading

by WritingSlave (WriterTailorSpy)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluffy, M/M, Reading, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterTailorSpy/pseuds/WritingSlave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade's sudden interest in classics interests Mycroft to no end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Required Reading

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sleepylock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepylock/gifts).



> I wrote this a few months ago, but I forgot to post it up. It's just something sweet/fluffy which I wrote just after I finished reading Picture of Dorian Grey, and Wuthering Heights, so I figured I'd mention them.

Lestrade blinked a few times and reread the sentence, his brow furrowing slightly, and then decided to skim the next few lines. He had realised early on that sometimes you had to skim and pretend you understood.   
He heard a noise at the door and looked up briefly before returning to his book. Then he jumped and tried to hide the book, but it was too late.  
“What are you doing?” came a clear, amused voice.   
“Nothing,” Greg said, and returned the book to his lap. There was nothing wrong with reading, after all.   
“Really?” Mycroft asked. “Hmm.” He sat down on the couch next to Greg and held out his hand to look at the book. After a few hesitant seconds Lestrade passed it over.   
Mycroft looked over the book with veiled eyes. “Hmm.” He said again. His gaze met Greg’s. “So this is why you’ve been acting oddly recently.”  
Greg blushed and took back the book. “I don’t know what you mean.”  
“I quite sympathize with the rage of the English democracy against what they call the vices of the upper orders.” Mycroft quoted. “The masses feel that drunkenness, stupidity, and immorality should be their own special property, and that if any one of us makes an ass of himself, he is poaching on their preserves.”  
“Huh?”  
Mycroft gestured to the book. “The Picture of Dorian Gray.”  
Lestrade’s blush deepened. “I haven’t read that far yet.”  
“It refers to the… common people’s assumption that a celebrity should be the pinnacle of eloquence, while they themselves are allowed to shame themselves however they like without comment.” He frowned. “Like if a certain royal decided to employ the services of a dominatrix…” he trailed off, then shook his head. “If someone with no political standing did so, not many people would care, but if someone famous did, it would cause a scandal.”   
“Oh.” Lestrade shifted in his chair.  
Mycroft gave him a look. “But that is not the issue, is it?”  
“Issue?”   
“May I ask why you’ve suddenly decided to increase your library?”  
Lestrade suddenly felt defensive. “It’s not a crime to read.”  
“No. And you would know, I suppose. Still,” he leant in for a kiss, pressing his lips against Greg’s softly. “It is an interesting choice.” Then he leant back and surveyed the man, who was still recovering from the kiss. “And I doubt that’s the only book you’ve been reading recently.”  
Greg’s eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms. “And why would you think that?”  
“Like Daphne and Apollo.”  
“Huh?”  
“Something you said last week. A reference from Metamorphoses.”   
“It’s a Greek myth! Everyone’s heard a few!”  
“And there was the remark about the Linton family yesterday. What was it? “The only thing more messed up than you two and your relationships, mine and Sherlock’s, was the Linton family. Is the plot of Wuthering Heights public knowledge too? I don’t believe I’ve heard many people discuss it recently.”  
Lestrade flushed. And then he shrugged. “Work’s been slow, and I figured I’d do something productive.”  
Mycroft frowned and caught Greg’s arm. “It’s not the reading I’m questioning. It’s the subject matter.”  
“What’s wrong with the classics?”  
“Nothing’s wrong with them. But they aren’t your…” he gestured vaguely with his free hand. “Your style.”  
Lestrade gave an honest laugh at that. “My style. Well, Mr Holmes, please tell me my style.” He instantly regretted it, having forgotten that he was talking to Sherlock’s brother, and asking a Holmes to ‘tell’ anyone anything was practically asking for it.   
Mycroft leant back and was silent for a second, looking Greg over, and Greg felt his stomach sink because he knew, he knew what was going to happen next, and he had asked for it.   
“Well, when you do decide to read something beyond the tabloids….Cosie Crime Fiction. Agatha Christie,” Mycroft began.  
“Yeah.”  
“And probably popular contemporaries. You-”  
Lestrade sighed and Mycroft stopped. “The point being,” he said instead, “is that the books don’t fit your style.”  
Lestrade didn’t answer.   
Mycroft frowned and waited patiently, looking at the wall opposite them.   
“Just wanted a change of pace.” Lestrade finally said.   
“Of course,” Mycroft said, deciding that the curiosity wasn’t worth the awkwardness. There was a silence.   
Lestrade decided to return to his book. He began reading, but after a few lines, his eyes blurred. Mycroft shot him a look of curiosity, and once more commandeered the book.   
“Hey!” Greg said indignantly.   
Mycroft chuckled, and shifted away, to the opposite side of the couch. Greg blinked and seriously wondered if Mycroft Holmes wanted to play tag. Then Mycroft gestured for Greg to rest his head in his lap, and Greg grinned.   
He lay down and did as he was told. Mycroft returned his attention to the book. “Even the common uneducated audience of the pit…” As Mycroft read aloud, his hand brushed though Greg’s hair, and Greg soon fell asleep listening to the melodic tones of his boyfriend’s voice as he talked about the love of Dorian Grey.


End file.
